


tickle me pink

by kimsvngkyus



Series: the "ticklish! sherlock" series [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sherlock is ticklish, and tea, fun times, is john ticklish, sherlock tries to find out, with.... interesting results
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:07:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8262062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimsvngkyus/pseuds/kimsvngkyus
Summary: “Oh Sherlock, my bum can’t be ticklish!” John laughs again, eyes bright and voice warm.Sherlock pauses, staring contemplatively at John’s arse.“Doesn’t mean it’s not a nice bum.” Sherlock grumbles, leaning back to meet John’s eyes, matching the affection swimming in the depths of warm blue.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My first actual contribution to the Sherlock fandom!  
> Get ready for some fluffy johnlock !! Strap yourselves in !!  
> Please let me know if you find any errors or mistakes, and don't hesitate to chat me up on my tumblr or twitter to talk about this fic, Sherlock, or anything at all!

John comes home from an unexpectedly tough day at the clinic (children are demonic) to find Sherlock sprawled on the carpet, next to what appears to be a chalk outline of a torso.

Sherlock doesn’t look up when John enters, so John smiles, content and reverent to leave Sherlock to what he does best, and heads to his room.

-

It’s been two days and Sherlock hasn’t lost his obsession with the torso on the carpet. John has gone two nights without the soothing hum of the Stradivarius to ease him into his dreams.

John is bemused, but marginally worried. He tries to coax some tea and biscuits into Sherlock. He succeeds, but, well, just only.

“Sherlock, you've been down there _all day_ , get up. Have some tea at least.” John’s made his tea just right, waiting til the tea is the right colour, before adding milk and spooning in a generous amount of sugar. How Sherlock stayed healthy with his undeniable penchant for sweets and lack of proper nutrition was a right mystery to John.

A disgruntled noise escapes Sherlock, before he rolls onto his stomach, huffing into the carpet, verdigris eyes red rimmed and swollen. John crouched down, gently placing the teacup on the coffee table, kneeling down beside Sherlock. Yearning to lift an arm to card his fingers through the stark curls piled messily atop Sherlock’s head.

“Is this for a case?” Head cocked slightly, curiosity alight behind warm blue eyes. Sherlock stilled, breath catching in his throat.

“No- not exactly.” Sherlock was a wonder, brilliant mind and quirky experiments and surprising bouts of emotion bundled up in the shape of a man. He was everything John could have asked for and more.

“That means you have time for tea, and leftover Thai you didn’t have yesterday.” John straightens up slowly, shooting Sherlock a fond look. “I know it’s just transport to you, but it’s more than that to me.”

John turned, military hands now used to cleaning out Sherlock’s experiments (growth of Aspergillus Oryzae this time) from the confines of the microwave. He didn’t catch the flush high on Sherlock’s cheekbones, startlingly pink against the pale skin of his cheek.

-

John came back the next day to a Sherlock surrounded by feathers and electrodes.

“That's an… odd combination.” John moved to the kitchen, instinctively reaching out for two cups and filling them with tea. (One plain, one with milk and one, two, three teaspoons of sugar.)

“Sherlock, are you still working on the same experiment?” John called from the kitchen, not anticipating the sharp screech of furniture against the floor and an audible thump as something (most likely Sherlock) hit the ground. Muffled noises of dissatisfaction travelled from the living room, and there were a few instances before Sherlock, hissing at whatever mess he’d made, caved and called for John.

John immediately left the tea, choosing to smother an inappropriately happy smile at the thought of Sherlock coming to him for help. Sherlock worked alone, he had worked alone. He’d been a cold genius with his Belstaff wrapped around him tight, shielding him from the weakness Sherlock had deemed _‘sentiment’._ Now, he was Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, and John Watson was his blogger.

Sherlock has somehow, somehow, managed to tangle himself, the ottoman, John’s computer cables, and the electrodes, to form one spectacular mess in the middle of the living room.

John promptly burst out laughing. Sherlock, Reichenbach hero, the world’s only consulting detective, was slouched amidst a wild tangle of wires, sulky pout pulling at the edges of plump lips.

Only Sherlock, _only him._

-

John turned to bolt the door closed, tucking his key into the pocket of his jeans, to find a firm grip on his arm, dragging him up the stairs.

“Sherlock, _Sherlock_ \- wait!”

Sherlock dropped to his knees in front of the fireplace, choosing to circle John at a lower angle.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?” John peers over his shoulder, smiling amusedly at the sight of Sherlock poking around at his calves, curls a disheveled mess atop his head and dressing gown falling open to reveal a milky white shoulder.

  
Sherlock mutters something under his breath, before trailing his fingers up John’s back, scratching pleasantly.

“You’re supposed to be ticklish!” Sherlock bursts out at John’s lack of reaction, scowling petulantly. “You’ve _got_ to be!”

“Sorry to disappoint Sherlock, I’m afraid not.” John laughs, warm and deep, china blue eyes achingly soft.

“Sherlock, was this- has this been the entire point of the torso, the feathers, _even the electrodes_? You wanted to see if I was ticklish?”

Sherlock isn’t deterred, still poking around resolutely, only with a stiff jaw this time, his pokes increasing in strength.

“Ow, Sherlock- _ow_! What are you-” John looks adorably confused, twisting around to watch as Sherlock probes determinedly at John’s denim-clad arse.

“Oh Sherlock, my bum can’t be ticklish!” John laughs again, eyes bright and voice warm.

Sherlock pauses, staring contemplatively at John’s arse.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not a nice bum.” Sherlock grumbles, leaning back to meet John’s eyes, matching the affection swimming in the depths of warm blue.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading ! Leave a comment or a kudo if you liked it !  
> Beta-ed by [cat !!!](loriskareus.tumblr.com) at 1 am in the morning where we are both a little delirious :"")
> 
> also !! do note i will be writing a next instalment where we explore Sherlock's ticklishness so stay tuned !!
> 
> find my tumblr @ [jchnhamishwatson](http://jchnhamishwatson.tumblr.com)  
> find my twitter @ [johnhwatscn](https://twitter.com/johnhwatscn)


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